


Your Pain is Mine, is No Longer Ours

by plumbum



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Humour (to a certain extent), I'll add tags as I write, M/M, Maybe fluff or smut if they can work it out, active!! as of feb 2018, mostly that, not everything is permanent, this isn't all angst please bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumbum/pseuds/plumbum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo returns from adventure, and finds himself irreversibly changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface/ Prologue

For the first time in his fifty one years, Bilbo Baggins had blisters on his feet.

After much thought on this matter, he had decided that it due to a drastic shift in the pleasantness of his daily life. Hobbits are, as many know, a simple people, full of good cheer and mirth. They never turn down a good meal, and are always eager to join into a jovial drinking song. They have strong, callused, never blistered feet, and curly hair that can not be found on their rosy and ample cheeks. Along with all of this, every hobbit enjoys a good romp, whether in the hay, a heavily cushioned bed, or elsewhere, and are always polite enough to invite their partner (or partners) to tea afterwards. These traits were what made them Hobbits, by the laws of nature. Being a hobbit (and a rather respected one at that), Bilbo had never strayed from that veritable law book of attributes and activities that any self respecting hobbit swore to. That was, of course, before his home was ransacked by a pack of dwarves. It was their arrival and Bilbo's willingness to forego his nature as a hobbit and journey halfway across the world with these strange dwarves that started Bilbo Baggins on the path to blistered feet.

Now, he found that he certainly preferred his home the way he had last seen it. The quietness that lay behind that round green door scared him now, knowing that the harsh reality of how alone he was was all he would come to see. Returning to this, the quiet, the emptiness, the rather dusty halls of his home was just as daunting as traipsing around with dwarves and fighting a dragon seemed at the start of it all. Bilbo knew he would find no comfort in his old way of life, but it wasn't as if he could turn back now, could he? No. With a chest of gold under his arm, and a broadsword on his back, Bilbo was on the doorstep of another, far less interesting adventure. This wasn't to say, though, that he was in any less danger.

Feeling extremely small, Bilbo pushed open his front door, a tremendous sigh shuddering through his body as he set eyes on the empty place. Distantly, he heard the chest fall to the floor with a thud.

 _Yes_ , the miserable creature thought to himself, _this will undoubtedly break your heart_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a super short preface. I thought it was strong this way. I'll probably be in the trend of posting short chapters.
> 
> Edited February 13th, 2018


	2. What then, what then?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a Hobbit, it turns out, isn't as easy as it seems.

Slowly, instantaneously, the days, the weeks, months, went by. Bilbo tried to immerse himself in his ‘natural’ behaviours. Being a Hobbit, it turned out, wasn't as easy as it seemed. Not after such a change.

On several occasions, he had tried to attend a family gathering, or even a boisterous party held in a garden, but had never found himself to be as excited about mingling and drinking as he had been in the past. The parties, the baby showers, the get-togethers, were all as grey as the rocks deep in the mountain, as grey as the hearts of dwarves.

There was some peace to be found in gardening, though. His parents had both been very enthusiastic about gardening, and Bilbo had always tried to keep the garden in his yard alive and flourishing in their spirit. These gardening afternoons, which had always been a cheerful time for Bilbo, an hour or so every day that he could leave to the flowers, the tomatoes, and his gardener Hamfast, were very important to the little Hobbit. He treasured these afternoons, even after his debacle with the dwarves. The very day after his arrival, Hamfast had shown up at his large green door, and dragged Bilbo out to the garden. For hours they worked in a sweet, comfortable quiet, piling a far corner of the garden with the long established weeds, left to their own devices in his absence. Afterwards, the two old Hobbits, now covered in dirt, smoked a pipe, still steeped in silence.

Just before he was about to leave out the gate, the sunset just above Bag End at his back, Hamfast turned to Bilbo, his slightly tanned face pulled into an expression of confusion, of sorrow.

“Mr. Bilbo?” He asked, eyes barely discernible through the evening darkness.

“Yes, Hamfast?”

“This adventure of yours. It wasn't of the most… wholesome sort, was it?”

After a pause, “You could say that, Hamfast, yes. I would say that.”

Hamfast considered this for a second, then nodded, smacking his lips and lighting another batch in his pipe. “You’ve aged far too much, Mr. Bilbo. Much more than you’d expect of one of our folk.”

Bilbo didn't reply. The two stared at each other for a long while, then Hamfast left, his tobacco burned out, the gate clicking closed behind him.

***

Bilbo had had his nose in a beer tankard as he came to the realization, in the middle of his second cousin Hildigrim's bachelor party (an event that his mother do doubt forced the young soon-to-be husband into inviting his estranged Uncle Bilbo to). It was there, under the lights and amongst the unattainable happiness that would no doubt surround the ceremony the next day, that Bilbo realized he wasn't a Hobbit anymore. He immediately stood from his seat, which disturbed a young Hobbit who had been near him. Bilbo pursed his lips, apologized to the drunk looking adolescent, then left the courtyard.

On the walk home, his thoughts were muddled. _If not a Hobbit, then what? Certainly not a dwarf_ , he hissed to himself, _You lost that when you betrayed them, doomed them._ The thought brought a thick smoke of despondency to Bilbo’s throat, and he shook his head to clear it, but to no avail. _They hate you, you killed their king, they hate you._ In all actuality, he had nothing to do with the king's actual death, but no amount of reason would part him from his self doubt.

Once home, he took a bath, a long bath, and thought on his new title. _If not a Hobbit, then what? Then what?_ Bilbo sank into his tub, eyes open as he stared blankly upwards. Light from the candles next to the tub flickered over the ceiling, forming looming shadows over the bath, distorted by the water that separated Bilbo from his bathroom. The candles created shapes, that came and went with the quivering of the flames. The figure of the king grew over Bilbo’s bathtub, his striking cerulean eyes boring into the bathing creature, still oddly visible through the water. All of the air came out of , sputtering as he surfaced. The king was no longer there when he came back up, only a lingering sense of shame, deep within his belly.

_You insolent rat! You traitorous hobbit!_

Bilbo’s coughing echoed through his tiled bathroom, bath water mingling with his salty tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so into this you guys. I'm excited for what's to come.


	3. How strange, how desirable, to be nothing at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories resurface, Bilbo and Hamfast mourn together, though for separate things.

“If he was here, he’d scorn me.” 

  
_Thorin and Bilbo are on watch one night when Thorin says this. They had been chatting quietly about their childhoods, Bilbo about his mother and father, the house they lived in, and their untimely deaths when the Hobbit made the mistake of asking after Thorin’s, and his father. There was a thick emotion to his voice once he finally spoke, something that could easily be placed. It held terror, shame, longing. Bilbo couldn’t see Thorin’s eyes, it had been far too dark. He sought out, then held tightly to his broad hand, and rasped out a whisper. “Thorin, you’re fighting for the mountain, Thrain would be proud of you.”_

  
_“Then why did he leave me, Master Baggins? Why did he leave his family?” The dwarf murmured, voice shivering like a leaf in the wind. Bilbo could feel his breath on his own wet cheek, and he had shivered along with it._

  
_“Thorin, your father, he… He didn’t leave you, or Dís, or her sons. Not consciously. You have to know that.” Bilbo’s voice had been icy, defiant, and forceful. Thorin, if he could have seen him, was gawking._

  
_Thorin’s hand tightened around Bilbo’s, almost bruisingly, and the Hobbit found himself squeezing back, then pulling. He had pulled until Thorin was resting his face on Bilbo’s curls, and Bilbo’s chest was pressed to his side. He had all but collapsed onto the smaller creature. “I’ve never encountered any creature like you,” Thorin whispered into Bilbo’s honey brown curls, “Dwarf nor Man, not even Hobbit. How strange you are, burglar. How strange.”_

_For the remainder of the night, they rested against each other, their hands clamped together, breath matched to the other’s._

It’s not shouts or exclamations that wake Bilbo, it’s whispers. Those whispers, Thorin’s lips against his hair, the odd words he once muttered in the dark night of the wood. He curls further into his bed, and wishes for sleep that will not come, more of what he had lost so long ago, that will never be regained.

  
***

  
The more Bilbo dreams, the more he sees Thorin, so the creature takes to his bed, as if ill, so that more dreams may come. He often appears as Bilbo last saw him, each breath a laboured heave, the wound above his hairline gushing blood onto Bilbo’s hands, beautiful eyes unfocused and blank. He knows that it’s his punishment, knows that Thorin, his dying breath, will never leave his memory. At times, when he wakes up, he is almost sure that Thorin is there, in his bedroom, and he closes his eyes, throws a pillow to the corner where the dwarf king looms.

The king is always gone when he finds the courage to look, and Bilbo can’t help but feel (just slightly, though undeniably) disappointed. It is one of those bed-ridden nights that Bilbo sees a bird, dark as can be, at his bedroom window. He stands, lets it in, and feeds it some cornmeal. It seems to want to stay, but Bilbo shoos it out the next afternoon, scolding it for being greedy.

Soon, though, it is not only in his dreams that he sees the dwarf king. Eating toast, reading a book, staring blankly at parchment that’s mean to be his manuscript, Bilbo sees Thorin, the grating rattling inside his chest, Bilbo clenches his eyes shut, and swats at his form blindly. His hand moves easily through him, though he fears looking.

  
It is only in the garden, with Hamfast that he finds solace from Thorin’s ghost. They chat idly, which becomes easier and easier as time goes on, as the strangeness of Bilbo’s adventure fades from the minds of the Shirefolk. The calm of the garden seems to ward off the restless specter of the lost king. The empty space is obvious, gaping, and a relief.  
He hasn’t told Hamfast about his new status as not-quite-hobbit, but has, on occasion, attempted to hint at it. They’ll be working side by side, and Bilbo will ask him something like “Do you ever feel out of place, Hamfast?” to which Hamfast will answer “Hard not to, Mr. Bilbo, with all of these young faunts running around, falling head over heels for each lass that passes. Springtime brings about those… feelings, though, I suppose.” Bilbo often chuckles at this, and doesn’t push farther. Hamfast is a simple Hobbit, and Bilbo doesn’t quite expect him to understand, but finds comfort in his response, as unrelated as it is.

They both know that they were once in the place of the youngsters, once the faunts who made the more ...settled of their folk yearn for their lost youth.

  
Bilbo doesn’t, though, and while he understands Hamfast’s desire, he does not mourn for the spryness he once had. Instead, Bilbo yearns for death, for old age, for deteriorating memory and weak hands. He is too clouded, now, to ever want to experience the world again, because heartbreak, it seems, is more often than not inevitable.  
Sometimes, he laughs at Thorin’s figure, and envies the release he must have felt.


	4. Worrying ails you further, you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is recovering, and horrendously worried.

It’s the middle of the night when Thorin decides to spy on Bilbo Baggins. Though, one could never tell, really, as much of Erebor is shielded from the light of (or lackthereof, in this case) day. It has been two months since the battle of five armies, and Thorin, injured and close to death as he was, has been recovering off in some corner of the kingdom, isolated from the remainder of the healing quarters, where the ‘commoners’ were being cared for. Bilbo had left long before Thorin was able to walk, or even conscious again, under the assumption that Thorin had died, according to much of the company. It was on this two month mark that the dwarven king pulled himself from his bed with the intent of travelling to the height of the mountain, where the rooks dwell, to have one for himself. He would have to be stealthy in this, he knew. His advisors had turned him away from the idea of Thorin distracting himself from his own recovery in any way, but this was far more important to him than his own ailing form. It was likely the very same advisors that had refused to allow Thorin to write a summons for the Hobbit as soon as he was able, claiming that his presence would distract Thorin from his kingly duties, and his recovery. At the time, Balin had, thankfully, promised to try and find a way to contact him, but was found out days after. So, the king went quiet, bent to the will of his advisors and stayed in bed, to heal.

It took hours, and Thorin could see the sun rising through the skylight in the rook chambers by the time he finally reached it, the air cold and putrid after years of neglect, still difficult, even now, to scrub away. The birds squawked a greeting when he pushed the door open, smart enough to recognise an heir of Durin when they saw one.

“Hello,” Thorin murmured, mouth twisting into a smile as the bolder of the bunch landed on his arms. After some struggle, he produced a pouch of grain for them to eat from. This coaxed the shy birds to approach him, allowing him to find the ones capable of echoing based on their pendants, which were secured onto their ankles. Once he found one who was strong enough, a sturdy female, who wasn’t as spry as the younger rooks, but just as eager to please, he chose a name for her. Thasal, after the Dam who had taught Thorin how to fight when he was a boy, a lass just as wise and sturdy as this rook seemed to be.

It was now that he had to give her her assignment. Now, or Thorin feared he may never know the fate of his Hobbit, for the guards were surely notified that their king was missing, and he would be punished, once again isolated for this ‘adventure’. My, he could see their sneering faces now. To the rook, he explained his mission for her in rough Khuzdul, using terms that he wasn’t sure she understood. _Please,_ he begged her, feeling silly for being so desperate, _Find the little one. West of here, in rolling green hills, a large green door._ He drew a hasty circle for her, fingers trembling. _Make sure he is safe, come back to me with what he says. Do not make yourself known._

In the end, though, she seemed resolute, and flew through the skylight with a purposeful flap of her dark wings.

Thasal came back, another three months later. By this time, Thorin was functioning as a king, spending hours listening to council meetings, trying to rebuild his kingdom.

She greets him by immediately mimicking the noises of a thick sort of cry, which seems to be muffled, then a series of cooing noises, accompanied by an quiet ‘I’ve got something for you’. Thasal is more capable at forming words in Westron than the other rooks, Thorin finds, and this pleases him. She pauses, tilting her head to one side, almost waiting for the king to clear his thoughts, then repeats, rather loudly, ‘go, you, go back to whomever you came from, and stop begging!’. This causes Thorin, in turn, to laugh. It seems the Hobbit is as stubborn as always when it comes to sharing food, and while Thasal has gone against his order, she doesn’t seem to have been found out completely.

For now, just knowing Bilbo is alive, and in his own ways, is enough for Thorin. And, perhaps, he thinks, any interference from an aging dwarf king would be unwelcome in the quiet of the shire. Bilbo Baggins was, after all, a Hobbit before all else.

***

It is this very same evening, ironically, far to the west of Erebor, behind a round green door that the creature Bilbo Baggins decides to kill himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me ://  
> Oh, and at the moment, I'm going to ignore the ring. Lets say it was dropped in battle, until I decide whether or not to include it.


	5. Last matters of business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finalizes his letter, and makes his departure. Also, a flashback.

They’re in the Throne Room when he snaps. 

“Thorin! You have to trust me! You can’t.. can’t expect me to let you go on like this. I know you, I know you, Thorin, and this isn’t it.” Bilbo tried to catch Thorin’s gaze, but he avoids him, he reaches out but he is brushed away. “You’re slipping. You’re not acting like yourself. Don’t you understand me?” The Hobbit stepped forward once more, a soft and mournful sound escaping his throat.

The dwarrow’s face is shadowed by the lack of light under the mountain, but Bilbo can see his eyes. They were almost glowing. Though they lacked the blue brilliance that he had come to love. No, Thorin’s eyes were not blue. His eyes were as gold as Smaug’s hoard that lay festering beneath them. Glowing gold as he inspected a goblet, its intricate carvings glimmering in the light.

“You’re wrong, halfling,” he rumbled, clutching the goblet in his thick fingers, knuckles white from the force of it. “You know naught of the king under the mountain! You see only what you want, you fool. I am not what you say I am. I am king, and only king.” Thorin reach out, violently gripping at Bilbo’s coat, the goblet now clattering to the stone floor, then rolling, rolling off of the balcony and into the hoard. 

_ Ah, how wonderful.  _ Bilbo thought to himself, resisting Thorin’s hold,  _ If only he turned his own words back on himself, and  _ listened,  _ all would be right under the mountain.  _ But alas, it was not so. “Th- stop!” Too scared to speak more than the one word, the Hobbit kicked at the air as Thorin lifted him. As he began to find it difficult to breath, his little hands traced over the dusting of hair on Thorin’s larger ones, his eyes caught the shape of his gritted teeth. Dragon teeth. This image goes round and round in his mind, and he hears him. Bilbo hears Smaug speaking to him in Thorin’s voice. The king’s sneer.  _ Barrel rider? _

Their faces are so close. “You know nothing of me, you-”

“Thorin!” A voice called from down the corridor a ways, preceding a stampede of footsteps. There are at least two dwarves coming for him, he knows. Thank Yavanna. 

“Uncle!”

It was Bofur and Fίli, bless them. The blond dwarf yanked Bilbo from the king’s grip, then rushed forward to hold his uncle back. Bilbo immediately collapsed into Bofur’s chest, whimpering as he clutched the miner tightly. Distantly, he could hear Thorin protesting, and struggling against Fίli as Bofur tried to comfort him, while simultaneously asking the little Hobbit what had happened.

Bilbo, red-faced, looked between Thorin and Bofur, and his own toes. “What happened? Your king is… He’s sick! And he doesn’t even realize it. Save me from the ignorance — the downright vileness of dwarves. Of you, Thorin Oakenshield!” he exclaimed, shoving one finger in Thorin’s direction before storming away from the group, who were now all very still. Their ragged king fell against his nephew, his tired eyes slipping closed. 

 

These were the words Bilbo recounted in his mind as he scrawled his final ones, as far as he was concerned, onto a piece of parchment paper. He found that he shook with the effort not to curse at that version of him. Thorin was sick, painfully so, but Bilbo’s disdain had not been curing the dwarf. He knew now what was written in fate for Thorin, and he could not help but blame himself for the horrid end he and his nephews met. It was an oppressively heavy burden for such a small creature to handle. Bilbo supposed this was the reason for the current state of events. 

As he was hunched over his small desk, finally signing the letter, his candle fizzled out. 

“Bother,” He muttered, lifting the paper to shake it dry. With a final sigh and look to the letter, he nodded. “All right, then. I s’pose that’s… it. Isn’t it?” He rolled up the letter and tied it neatly. Along with a letter to Hamfast, who would find it in the morning, he set it on the mantle. This is what it read:

 

_ To any Hobbit, Man, Wizard or otherwise it might concern: _

_ Do not come looking for the creature you once knew as the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins, unless you wish to meet a most unsavory sight. Before you ignore this warning, I, the very same, would like to inform you of my (his) intent and reasoning.  _

_ Reader, I do not belong where I have found myself. (Bag End on the hill of the Shire). I am not of the folk I was born to. That is, not anymore. If you are familiar with me, or have heard any of the (assured) gossip about me, you will know of my grand adventure far away from this place I once called home. Attached is my account of that journey: ‘There and Back Again’ I will call it, as well as my journal I kept throughout its duration. Inside you will find my story. Because of this journey, I have been so displaced from the culture and folks here that I fear I may never recover. This is why I have made the decision to end my life.  _

_ Through all of the journey, I was mostly happy. Though rather uncomfortable on several occasions, I can assure you. I’m sure I can tell you this in confidence, reader (though I’m sure it won’t matter, I’m rather dead by now)... I was indubitably in absolute love for the entirety of that mad adventure. With whom is quite obvious to you, I’m sure. Thorin Oakenshield. The very same, you will find, that I quite horribly betrayed before The Battle of Five Armies broke out, bringing many to their deaths.  _

_ This is something that haunts me every minute I remain alive, dear reader. I have been changed by this journey. Irreversibly so.  _

_ In short, if you do not like to read any length of written word: I am going into the wood to the south of Fornost and slitting my throat. Do not come looking for me. If you have any questions about the Estate and my ‘fortune’, (Lobelia!), it will go to my dear cousin Drogo and his new wife Primula. I wish to you both the best of luck. _

_ Signed, _

_ Bilbo Baggins of  _ _ —  _

 

To Hamfast:

 

_ Hamfast, my friend, _

 

_ While what I say in this letter is true, I would like for you to know that you were never at any fault. You are a very dear friend to me, and I wouldn’t give our friendship for anything in the world. I am grateful for all that you have done for me, and have a few last requests for you: _

_ Please, inform whomever necessary of my end and make sure the home goes to the proper Hobbits.  _

_ If anyone strange should ever come calling, give them the other letter and tell them to leave. Primula and Drogo won’t want to be bothered. This includes one Gandalf the Grey, thank you very much. _

_ There is a small sack of gold under my bed in my chambers. Take it.  _

 

_ My most fondest regards, _

_ Bilbo Baggins _

  
It is this night, hours away from sun up that the creature Bilbo Baggins makes his way into the wood to end his life. 


	6. February 2018! Revisiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick update.

hey so it's been like three years, but i'm revisiting this fic. it's rough by my standards now (so it will take some editing) but i still like the concept, so 

**Author's Note:**

> hey thanks for reading. steponjack is my tumblr for this type of stuff, if you're interested.


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